


Past Time

by micehell



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Ficlet, how it started
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-30
Updated: 2007-11-30
Packaged: 2017-11-12 04:01:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micehell/pseuds/micehell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He's really taking this hard to get thing to the limit, isn't he?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Past Time

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally supposed to be part of a series of triptychs from different fandoms that would go in the following pattern: _inauspicious start to the relationship_ , _why they gave it a second chance_ , and _how it all worked out_. The funny thing is that in the other two fandoms I started doing this with, the stories kind of morphed into something else, and this one was never going to have a truly happy ending because of canon, so now this part is an orphan. But wth. ;)

She'd known who he was before Angela had even mentioned him. He was too pretty, too tall, too smart, too awkward, too… unattainable not to be talked about. It had been a lure to her, a puzzle, a challenge. Not to mention the bet was easy money.

It took her two dates to even get to first base, though, his head ducking shyly into an almost chaste kiss. She could still feel it, soft and sweet, as the others laughed at her story.

"Maybe I'm just losing my touch," she said, starting to hedge her bet, her conscience feeling the feathery touch of those lips.

"Maybe you're losing your looks," Angela offered, her tone innocuous, but her smile was touched with challenge and a hint of victory.

Stung pride won over a pricked conscience, and it wasn't like she was trying to rape him or anything. He could always refuse. And largely did, lasting another three dates before she managed to get him to second base. But he certainly seemed to know what to do with her breasts once he was actually touching them, concentric circles spiraling up and in that seemed to burn through the cloth of her shirt, leaving the nipples hard and aching. Both of them were breathing hard when he pulled away, mumbling about how late it was, that he had a class the next day, never mind that it was Saturday, and all she'd been left with was excuses and the whine of her vibrator humming in her ears.

Even Angela had looked a little bemused at that. "He's really taking this hard to get thing to the limit, isn't he?"

She didn't think it was an act, more that he was nervous, but it just made here more determined, the bet almost forgotten in her own need to have this thing she was beginning to suspect that no one else had touched.

Date number eight had been going so well, rounding third and into home. He had big hands, long fingers, and they felt so good, on her, in her. So good, so perfect, right up until the fire alarm had sounded, and by the time they'd let them back in, he'd had to leave for work. She tried to hold onto the thought of those fingers as she pressed in with her own, aroused and frustrated and cursing fate.

Even Angela was awed. "So close to scoring, and yet you couldn't quite cinch the deal, could you? Are you sure he's not gay? Or, you know, maybe _you_ have something you want to tell me."

She hadn't taken any chances on date nine, swinging for the bleachers. No classes, no work, and her parent's cabin up by Loma Mar. And a little alcohol, just in case.

He'd been slow and careful, the nervousness on his face melting into reverence. She'd known then, what she'd guessed at before. She didn't know exactly how someone who looked like he did had managed to hold on for so long, but she could guess. Maybe he'd been overweight. Maybe he'd been a military brat, always moving. But for whatever reason, he'd been an outsider, always looking in, but never really a part. It hurt, in a way, knowing the gift she'd been given when she didn't really deserve it. She decided that even as sweet as the money would be, even as good as it would be to finally put Angela in her place, she wouldn't admit she'd won the bet. Maybe she'd got here for all the wrong reasons, but it didn't mean that she couldn't stay for all the right ones.

He'd seemed an open book when she first met him, everything he felt showing like a beacon. It was only when she started to really know him that she'd realized how much he kept hidden. But he wasn't hiding anything now, the embarrassment clear on his face, the hurt, and he just stood there, shoulders hunching in on himself while Angela griped, "Oh, come on, Sam, don't act like a wounded virgin. It wasn't like _you_ lost the bet, and I'm the one who's having to shell out the money."

Jess didn't know who she was hated more at that moment, Angela for telling Sam about the bet even though Jess had forfeit, or herself for not knowing what to say as she watched him walk away. She almost laughed at herself, thinking it wasn't often that someone got called out after they'd already scored. But then nothing about Sam had been what she'd expected. Because she'd heard all about him before they'd even met, but even now she knew hardly anything at all.

She did know one thing, though. She knew that she was going to win him back. And when she did, the only way someone would put that look of hurt on his face again was over her dead body.

/story


End file.
